


sexual healing

by oshit (tajiis)



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Driving, Bad Puns, M/M, bad singing, josh is bad and chris is tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5105819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tajiis/pseuds/oshit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>chris should have left his ipod at home, probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sexual healing

**Author's Note:**

> cross posted on tumblr. thanks to @tyrellixt for the prompt, and to @hawkegg for being an awesome beta!

“Alright,” Josh concedes halfway into their argument. He props his feet up on the dashboard, peering at Chris. His expression is smug, the sides of his mouth curled up just slightly-- _devious_ , Chris thinks, even when there isn’t much to be devious about. “ _Blow_ my mind away, Cochise. Prove you’re not a musical nerd.”

How Josh managed to turn _everything_ into a challenge -- all he did was change the radio station, for fuck’s sakes -- Chris can’t quite comprehend, and even less so how he always _falls_ for it, hook, line, and sinker. Josh calls him a lightweight? Well _fuck_ , he can’t just take that, he’s gotta chuck off a few of his layers and get absolutely _wasted_ at 7 PM, even with the impending doom of a hangover leering over him all the while. Josh accuses him of having no guts? Yes, he has to go pull the school's fire alarm during the middle of his lunch period, and yes, maybe it is _kind of_ worth it when Josh beams at him like some kind of star bursting with solar flares. Josh calls him a softie? Yeah, he is, but Josh’s shit eating grin goads him on, and he doesn’t even think about it before they’re rolling around in the dirt like a pair of tweens fighting over an XBOX, and the only time Chris has ever gotten Josh to shut up is when he’s in a good ol’ classic WWE style headlock.

Naturally, that means that when Josh says his music sucks, ( and Chris _knows_ that isn’t true, even if it was, Josh’s gone to plenty of concerts with him, so his taste sucks too, _right punk_? ) Chris is compelled to whip out his ipod and prove him wrong, even when there’s perfectly satisfactory music playing on the radio already, and the nagging fact that there’s really nothing to _gain_ from this.

There wasn’t much to gain from _anything_ they were doing, really-- midnight road trips to the next city over were hardly rare for them. A few bags of chips, half empty soda bottles, skittles strewn over the car floor, Twizzlers tucked into the tight spot between seats, and the radio too damn loud was _routine_. Just two bros, their frankly impressive and even more so disgusting mess, and the lonely highway. A satisfactory Friday night, in Chris’ humble opinion.

It’d been a _thing_ for them, ever since Chris got his permit, especially since Josh didn’t like driving. He told everyone he didn’t like it much, but Chris knew it honestly just made him nervous as hell-- Josh had confided in him the same day he got his license, that driving sort of… scared him. Spiked his anxiety, and that he couldn’t help but always be a bit too jittery on the road. It didn’t mesh well with his meds, either, Josh had confessed.

There were times when Josh had to drive, of course, but whenever he went somewhere with the Chris, or his family, or hell, _any_ of their friends, it was unspoken that Josh either sat shotgun or in the back.  

And Josh didn’t like driving, but he liked _drives_ , particularly on smooth, open roads, and when Chris had noticed, he did his best to fit it into their routine. Every few weeks, a late night drive to some close city, where they could play games or go to a concert or watch a movie. Trademarked _bro-time_.

“This is _so_ pointless,” Chris grouses, reaching for his ipod when they reach the next red light. “You know like, all of my music, man.”

“You’re still doin’ it though, aren’t ya?” Josh points out, shit eating grin having been revealed in all of its underhanded glory. “I’m not _making_ you,” he continues, which is technically true, but Chris doesn’t think he’s turned down a challenge from Josh since like, 6th grade, when-- when, well, gaining Josh’s approval had actually started to _do_ something for him.  It’s a bad habit that he just can’t kick, Chris muses, because all teasing aside, it’s not like Josh would actually think _less_ of him for rejecting a challenge. Much less a stupid one over music. They both know Josh is just messing around.

Josh _is_ right, though. He still does it.

Instead of acknowledging his best friend’s completely valid point, Chris mumbles “shut up,” under his breath as his thumb swipes over the touch screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the bright green glow of the stop light, and presses his foot down on the pedal carefully, eyes flickering between the empty road and his song list.

“Here, we can listen to--”

“ _Nuh uh,_ ” Josh interjects, swatting at Chris’ hand. The car swerves slightly, enough to send their right side into the next lane on the thankfully, desolate road. Chris jerks the car into their side of the road and the car behind them honks loudly.

“I’m going to smack you,” Chris threatens, glaring at his passenger. The rolled up newspaper on his left is a testament his willingness. “The hell was that for?”

Josh has the good graces to seem a little sheepish, sinking a little lower into his seat and hands being shoved into his hoodie pockets, where they could cause no harm. He tilts his head in Chris’ direction, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip, and Chris’ eyes follow the action against his will. “You can’t pick the song,” Josh mumbles, ignoring his best friend’s immediate indignant cries. “Cochise, _listen_ , will ya?,” he continues, a little more pronounced. “See, if _you_ pick the song, you’re gonna pick something you _know_ I won’t make fun of you for. Gotta leave it up to fate, man. Hand it over, I’ll put it on shuffle.” He wiggles his fingers.

There’s a brief moment of stubbornness on Chris’ part, dismissed with a flourish of Josh’s hand, fluttering Chris’ weak arguments away; the blond sighs in defeat, tossing his ipod into Josh’s lap with only a little grumbling.

He isn’t _that_ big of a nerd. Sure, there was the leering possibility of the _Naruto Shippuden OP_ playing, or maybe the _Mission Impossible_ theme, but overall Chris didn’t have anything cringe worthy on his ipod. And Josh, that ass, he should know, considering the fact he knew all of Chris’ passwords and went through his technology religiously-- half of the songs on Chris’ ipod, Josh had downloaded, in retrospect. Whatever popped up on shuffle couldn’t be that bad, and if it was, there was a good 80% chance he could blame it on Josh. 

It’s quiet for a moment, just the low sound of wheels rolling over smooth highway, and a ‘click’ when Josh turns the radio off and actually bothers to dig out his USB cord and plug Chris’ ipod in.

Josh enters in his password ( _I should change it_ , Chris thinks, but he knows he won’t ) and waves the ipod in Chris’ direction, displaying his song list. 456 songs. Less than 1/10th a chance of something nerdy randomly playing. ‘ _Godspeed, pilgrim,_ ’ Josh’s voice echoes, faintly sympathetic, in the back of his mind.

Chris doesn’t recognize the song that begins to play at first-- the rift is unfamiliar, upbeat but not particularly memorable, and the smooth “ _get up, get up, get up, get up!_ ” doesn’t really click, initially.

Josh, for a second, seems equally confused, but then, in almost the same second, the duo does recognize it, and Chris groans at the exact moment Josh begins to laugh.

_‘Ooh baby, I'm hot just like an oven_

_I need some lovin'_

_And baby, I can't hold it much longer_

_It's getting stronger and stronger,’_

“Fuck!” Chris groans, slamming his head back into the seat. Out of everything, why _Sexual Healing_? Fuck nuggets-- _Beethoven’s Midnight Sonata_ would have been less embarrassing than this.

Next to him, Josh snorts, tilting his head back to laugh merrily, and Chris’ mouth dries a little at the smooth, tan expanse of his throat. Josh’s head nods for a few seconds, bobbing up and down in time with the music, mumbling under his breath-- and then he’s crooning out the words, all slow, attractive drawl and that sensual lilt to his voice gets when he _wants_ it there, and _Jesus Christ, this was a mistake_.

“ _And honey I know you'll be there to relieve me_

_The love you give to me will free me_

_If you don't know the thing you're--_ ”

“ _Dude,_ ” Chris chokes out, his grip tightening on the steering wheel drastically, eyes flickering between the road and Josh’s ‘show’. The song reaches it’s crescendo, and _there it goes_ , there goes the last and apparent _only_ shred of shame Josh has ever had, flying right out of the slightly cracked window, as Josh unbuckles his seatbelt, slides his feet off the dashboard, and begins to roll his hips in time with the music.

 

Chris' eyes nearly pop out of his head. 

“ _Let's make love tonight, wake up, wake up, ohhhh baaabbbyyyy~_ ” Good lord, that isn't even how the song  _went_. Josh is adlibbing, and performing some kind of fucked up strip show in his passenger seat. 

“Shut _up_ , man, oh my _god_ , will you _stop_.” 

 

And Chris didn’t realize it, but his foot must have slipped off the pedal or something akin because the car had slowed down to a leisurely cruise-- and later, he would suppose that whoever was behind them just got sick of their horseshit, because that was the exact moment the vehicle behind them revved loudly and goddamn fucking rear ended the shit out of them.

Chris’ foot slams down on reflex alone, jolting the pair forward and he yelps, startled, but overall okay, a stark contrast to Josh’s untimely doom.

A panicked shout of “ _Cuz you do it riiiiiiIIIGGGHHHT,_ ” escapes Josh as the poor man practically catapults forward, arms flying out to steady himself, which is, luckily enough to keep him from soaring out the window in something akin to an action scene in a _Fast N’ Furious_ movie, but unfortunately not enough to keep him from cracking his forehead on the dashboard. He lays there a moment, either in shock or pain, and then he _whimpers_ , and Chris has _never_ pulled over faster.

 

The car that was once behind them speeds past, a rude gesture displayed proudly from the passenger seat. Too fast for Chris to get a look at the license plate, lucky bastards, because God knew Josh’s parents were gonna have a _fit_ when Chris handed him over bruised and abused-- not even in the _good_ way.

 

“ _Cochiiiise_ ,” Josh whines lowly, and the pathetic timbre of his voice snaps Chris' attention back to the matter at hand.

 

He attempts to unbuckle his seatbelt, flailing for a moment in his haste before he gets free, immediately leaning over to raise Josh’s head and get a look at the bump on his cranium. _Ouch_. “Yeah? You okay, man?”

 

Josh doesn’t reply, hand raising to rub at the slowly swelling bump in the middle of his forehead, flinching when his fingers brush over it. Chris’ frown deepens at Josh’s grimace, a hint of panic beginning to well up within him. What if, if, Josh has a _concussion_ or something? It seemed like he hit his head pretty hard, and he’s just _staring_ , all wide, and quiet, and Chris feels his heart damn well _curdle_ in his chest, because it _is_ kind of his fault, and--

 

But then. Then, Josh’s lips begin to curl, and Chris becomes vaguely aware of Marvin Gaye’s voice still lilting sensually in the background. He squints at Josh.

“Chris,” Josh says, _tenderly_ , his expression refusing to waver, and Chris _knows_ what he’s about to say, “I think I need some--”

 

“JESUS FUCK, JOSH.”

 

“ _Sexual healing._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> leave me more until dawn prompts at elliotplz.tumblr.com !!


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